


It Won't Do to Dream of Caramel

by orphan_account



Series: White Picket Fence, I'll Put A Rock On Your Finger [7]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Brusque Ending, Everyone Is Mildly Distressed, Inebriated Dick Grayson, M/M, One-Sided Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Pining, Prescribed Fentanyl, minor injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 05:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jason takes Dick home after Dick is injured. Rose checks in.





	It Won't Do to Dream of Caramel

**Author's Note:**

> I was going somewhere with this and then lost my way after 1200 words. I'm not sure what to do with it, so Here Ya Go, have some pointless Dick Whump. I may try to wrap it up in a way that makes sense later.

“I’m not asking you to come to Thanksgiving,” Slade growled into his earpiece, lowering his binoculars. His target’s bulk was settled in a comparatively small, aluminum chair on a patio crawling with security and a few fellow mobsters in the bar across the street from Slade’s rooftop perch. Slade’s prey wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, judging by the round of drinks he’d just ordered.

“No, because that would be _reasonable_,” Rose hissed, her voice crackling in his ear just above the autumn wind. “Instead, you just want me to, what, spy on Dick? That’s so fucked up, Slade. He’s like a ment—like a brother to me.”

“I didn’t say that,” Slade growled. “I just asked if you’d check on him.”

Slade hadn’t been gone for this long since he and Dick began living together full time. And he didn’t like the look of Jason when Jason last visited. That was all.

“Leave him alone,” Rose huffed. “I know you two have a… thing, sometimes, but you’re going too far. He’s a man, not a hit, don’t _stalk_ him.”

Slade grunted. He hadn’t told her about their arrangement. Hadn’t found the time.

“Fine. I’ll send you the address anyway. Check on him, don’t. I don’t care.” Slade ended the call before Rose could protest. He sent Rose an encrypted message with his and Dick’s Gotham address.

Slade lifted his binoculars again and settled, content.

* * *

“Oh fuck, I’m so fucked! _Fuck_!” Jason snarled, wringing out a blood-drenched shirt in Slade Wilson’s cast iron kitchen sink. It’d been his shirt, a spare one he kept in his motorcycle’s left saddlebag. He kept it on hand in case he needed to change quickly or lay low. Not to mop up Dick’s _blood_.

Jason could still see the glint of Zsasz’s knife as it sliced through Nightwing’s uniform like butter, burying into Dick’s abdomen, just below his navel.

The dumb fuck had protected his throat but paused for a quip and Victor struck where he could. Jason had incapacitated Zsasz and kept Dick’s insides where they belonged with the spare shirt until they’d collapsed at Dr. Thompkins’s doorstep.

Dr. Thompkins had sewn Dick back together and sent them home with antibiotics, pain medication, and aftercare instructions, but Jason’s fingernails were caked copper with Dick’s blood. His hands shook as he tried to scrub them clean with dish soap.

“Settle, Little Wing,” Dick cooed from the kitchen chair.

“Go lie down,” Jason barked. He cleared his throat and tried again, “Take a nap or something.” Dick wasn’t even supposed to be out that night, Jason’d talked him into it. Slade was going to _kill_ him.

Dick hummed a tune. “Just breathe. It’s okay to breathe. The show doesn’t stop if you breathe, it’ll breathe with you, and that’s okay,” Dick slurred. “It’s okay.”

“What?” Jason asked, turning around to shoot Dick a curious look. Dick was stretched out in his chair, eyes closed. He was humming what sounded to be a circus jingle, and Jason suppressed a shudder. “You’re fucking high, go to bed.”

“Can’t,” Dick cooed. “Can’t sleep. Kids aren’t home yet, gotta make sure the kids get home.”

Jason cut the faucet and dried his hands on a spare dishtowel. “The kids are fine, Dick. I’ve checked in with Tim. They’re okay.”

The humming tapered off, but when Jason glanced over, it’s because Dick’s face was screwed up and wet. Jason dropped the towel and darted to Dick’s side, kneeling and rubbing Dick’s back.

“Hey, hey, Dickolas, do not cry on me,” Jason chided. “You’re okay, you’re just on medical-grade heroin and need a nap. It’s just the fentanyl, you’re okay. Okay? Breathe, you’re okay.”

Dick nodded, sniffling, face still tight. It terrified Jason that Dick was so far gone he couldn’t even keep his face straight. They all knew how to keep their faces straight when it mattered.

When Dick’s face finally smoothed and when his breathed leveled, Jason chanced, “When is Slade going to be home?”

Dick frowned. Then he burst into tears again and heaved, “He’s not home?!”

Fuck.

“Christ, Dick, take it easy,” Jason hissed, holding out his palms. Dick reached for him, but Jason shook his head. “You’re okay, just take it easy. He’ll, unfortunately, turn up, but you need to calm down.”

Dick slumped back in his chair, only to let out a whimper as the movement agitated his stomach. Jason glared up at the ceiling and groaned. But before he could berate Dick, or adjust Dick, or sedate Dick, the doorbell rang.

Jason lifted his head. “That’s… probably not Slade,” he muttered, drawing his gun from his thigh holster and approaching the front door cautiously. The bell rang again, and Dick slurred something, but Jason just shushed him.

Then the door burst open and Jason cocked the gun. But before he could fire, the point of a katana appeared but a centimeter from his nose. Jason following the line of the blade up a long, slender arm, until his eyes fell to Rose’s heart-shaped face. Rose tossed her shock of white hair back behind her shoulder and smirked.

“Pinned ya again,” Rose quipped. Jason grimaced and holstered his gun.

Dick, meanwhile, had shimmied from his chair to follow Jason into the entry hall. When he saw it was only Rose, Dick slumped against the wall beneath the stairs before sliding down it to rest in a puddle on the ground.

“Your dad’s not here,” Jason said, bodily stepping to Rose’s side as if that could shield Dick from her view. Rose lowered her sword.

“I’m not looking for him,” she retorted. She nodded towards Dick. “Just thought I’d say hey to my favorite taskmaster.”

Dick snorted. “I love you so much,” he slurred. Rose cocked her head.

“Fentanyl,” Jason explained. “He’s got some brand-new stitches, and he’s on fentanyl.”

Jason thought that, for a moment, Rose’s expression softened. But then she tilted her chin up just to glance down at Dick haughtily.

“Never really took you for the ostentatious sort, Nightwing,” she chirped. “This house is unreal.”

“’S not his,” Jason retorted, crossing his arms. Dick let out an offended grunt.

“It’s mine!” Dick whined. “Slade gave it to me. It’s in my name and everything. Fuck, Little Wing, you should see my credit score. It’s…,” Dick searched for the right word for a spell before settling on, “very hot.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason muttered. But Rose’s eyebrows were furrowing, and Jason could practically see the gears in her head-turning.

“I don’t… why would Slade _give _you a house?” Rose asked, sheathing her sword to cross her arms.

“It’s a safe house,” Jason asserted, at the same as Dick trilled, “We’re married!”

Rose blinked.

And then she blinked again.

“Excuse me?” she finally asked. Jason sighed, long and slow.

“Can I get you a cup of tea?” he asked because that’s what Alfred asked whenever he was on the verge of a conniption. Rose shot him a look that could kill.

“You knew?” she hissed, lurching towards Jason, who took a step back. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me? What the fuck, Jason! What happened to the bad dad club?!”

Dick made a distressed noise, but Jason paid him no mind, eyeing Rose’s sword as he was.

“Listen,” Jason snarled. “I hate it too, alright? If I had any say in the situation, they would have been divorced months ago—”

“Months?!” Rose screeched. Dick laid flat on his back and smiled up at the ceiling.

“Almost a year,” Dick cooed. “Gotta plan something before our anniversary.” He frowned again. “He’ll be home before then, right, Jason?”

Jason cupped his face. “Fuck if I know, Dickie,” Jason growled. Dick squawked, and so Jason dropped his hand and amended, “I don’t know, probably.”

Rose was staring at Dick with her mouth agape, desperation etched into her face. As if she’d find an answer in his inebriated, slack expression. She wouldn’t. Jason knows, Jason’d tried himself. There weren’t any answers to this that made sense. There was no reconciling Nightwing’s inherent, brilliant goodness with Rose’s shitty, predatory father.

Finally, Rose shut her mouth and pulled out her cellphone. “I’ll ask him, Dick. Can you get up and go to the couch at least?”

“Don’t bother, I’ve tri—” Jason began, but then, astoundingly, Dick wobbled to his feet and tottered towards the den. Jason followed him until he could be sure that Dick successfully dropped himself onto the couch. “Well. Fuck me, I guess,” Jason muttered, crossing his arms. Rose appeared beside him.

“Don’t take it personally,” she murmured, eyes glued to her phone as she supposedly typed up a message. “He sees me as one of his ‘kids,’ you know?”

Jason just grunted. He didn’t want to unpack the conflicting pangs in his chest.

Rose’s phone rang, and she answered. Dick’s eyes fluttered as he tried to stay awake. Jason reached out and stroked fingers through Dick’s hair, coaxing him to rest.

“Yeah, he’s like super drugged. Yeah, Slade’s gonna be pissed. I don’t know, I guess their butler?” She looked at Jason and asked, “Where’s his damage, and who patched him up?”

Jason didn’t tear his gaze away from Dick’s face. “Stab wound, lower abdomen, Dr. Thompkins.”

“Oh, not the butler, then,” Rose said into the receiver. “Yeah, I don’t know who that is. Okay. No, no more than his usual. Jason says it’s an abdominal stab wound. Yeah, he’s here. Nope. I’m not doing that, Wintergreen. Then maybe he shouldn’t have sent me to check on him! Yeah, no kidding. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

She paced as she spoke, eventually ducking out of the room although she remained close enough for Jason to hear her side of the conversation.

“I mean yeah, unfortunately,” she murmured. Jason listened as he settled on the ground next to Dick. He propped his head up in one hand and continued to pet Dick with the other. Dick had finally relaxed into the sofa cushions; his eyes were closed, and his jaw relaxed. His breathing wasn’t right for sleep quite yet, but he was getting there. “I just didn’t know it’d gotten so serious. Does Joey know?”

Jason closed his eyes. He didn’t know the Wilson children had been left in the dark, but he wished they’d have stayed that way. The more people learned, the more grounded the arrangement appeared.

Rose returned and cleared her throat. “Wintergreen’s on his way,” Rose said. “He’s going to let Slade know Dick’s been injured.”

“Dick’s injured all of the time,” Jason muttered. “I don’t run to Bruce every time he scrapes his knee.”

Rose scowled. “This isn’t a scraped knee, Jason,” she insisted. “He was stabbed. And for better or for worse, he asked for Slade.” 

"He's _high_," Jason protested, standing to face Rose. "He doesn't know what he's asking for. Dick only shacked up with Slade for insurance, and Slade's got an angle." 

"What angle is that?" Rose shot back, crossing her arms. 

"I don't know!" Jason shouted, throwing up his arms. "Pick one!" 

"Whatever," Rose hissed, glancing towards the door. "He'll be here soon enough anyway, whether any of us like it or not." 

"I do," Dick murmured. Rose and Jason both flinched, but then Rose was quick to arrive at Dick's side, covering Dick's hand with her own. Dick's eyes remained closed, but his expression was curled into a gentle grin. 

"You do what?" she asked, with Jason hovering over her shoulder. 

"Like him," Dick murmured. 

Rose placed a hand on Jason's shoulder. "It's okay," she said, to no one in particular. 


End file.
